


Thin Ice

by sludgemiser



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Blow Jobs, Drowning, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hypothermia, Light Public Frottage, M/M, Touch-Starved Shaw, Winter Veil Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sludgemiser/pseuds/sludgemiser
Summary: The harbor freezing over wasn’t the ridiculous part.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 6
Kudos: 116
Collections: World of Warcraft Gift Exchange 2019





	Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liodain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liodain/gifts).



The harbor freezing over wasn’t the ridiculous part.

No, Boralus winters had proven to be ass-awful at all times. Snow, sleet, hail and a cutting wind that blew off the water and hit the crew of the Wind’s Redemption right in the face were all par for the course. In fact, it was still a month out from Winter Veil and by Shaw’s count the harbor had frozen over four times.

The ridiculous part was that on this particular morning, the entire population of the city decided at random that it was now perfectly acceptable to start hawking their wares out on the ice. Forget the perfectly serviceable stalls around Tradewinds Market, oh no, the merchants didn’t even bother opening them. Instead, the harbor was sprouting a block of neat little tents and booths that was growing by the minute, forming walkways and paths and even little places for folks to gather. People were even starting to string up decorative lights around the harbor, set up fire pits for warmth and strike up bands with jolly music. To the crew aboard the Redemption, it was nothing short of baffling. 

“Kul Tirans are barking mad,” Shaw harrumphed into his scarf from the post he had taken up on deck to watch the show. Certainly any moment now the ice would break and the whole lot of them would go tumbling into the water. Shaw wasn’t sure how he’d go about organizing the rescue team, but he’d have to think of something soon. There was no way the ice could hold that many people. Gryphons, perhaps…? Barges…? 

“They seem to have plenty of practice at it,” Shandris shrugged. Shaw wasn’t the only officer up on deck watching the commotion, Wildhammer, Feathermoon, Wyrmbane and Keeshan were present too, clearly giving up on mission reports in favor of open-mouthed gaping. A handful of 7th Legion marines had gathered off to the side as well, although they kept glancing over at Shaw and Wyrmbane as if they expected them to send them off on an errand at any second. 

“They are,” Admiral Jes-Tereth added, arriving just in time to see a huge Winterveil tree hoisted up in the center of the ice. Being from Tidecross herself, Jes-Tereth’s was the only opinion Shaw put any stock in when it came to explaining Why Kul Tirans Acted the Way They Did. “A Frost Fair is declared any time temperatures go below freezing for ten days straight. It’s generally a jolly affair.” 

Shaw blinked at that, about to ask about logistics, but as soon as he opened his mouth a very particular voice came calling up from over the railing. 

“Hallo up there!” shouted Captain Fairwind, down on the ice. “Enjoying the morning show, are you?” 

Everyone on deck looked in Shaw’s direction. Somewhere along the line, all of High Command had collectively decided that Flynn Fairwind was the Spymaster’s problem. 

“Visitor for you sir,” called one of the marines, as if Shaw didn’t have ears. 

“Yes, private,” Shaw said, sounding strained. “Thank you very much”

He glared over the railing.

Sure enough, there was Flynn, standing there on the ice plain as day. The sight made Shaw’s neck itch - not only because it was Flynn, but also because if anyone was going to stumble upon a concealed fault in the ice, it would be the great Captain Flynn Fairwind. 

“What’re you lot doing still at your posts?” Flynn called up, a sticky fruit pie in one of his hands and the other in his mouth, where he was halfway through sucking his fingers clean. “It’s Fair day. No work allowed.” 

“War doesn’t stop for frosts,” Shaw frowned, trying to not think too deeply on Flynn’s fingers popping in and out of his mouth… or how long it had been since he’d washed them. “Or fairs.”

Flynn turned with a grin, waving a still-sticky hand first at the ice leading out to sea, then to the very frozen-in hull of the Redemption. “War isn’t sailing up in here any time soon. Reckon you’re not sailing to it either. I figure the campaign can get paused for weather.” 

“Zandalar isn’t taking a snow day,” Shaw shot back, now leaning fully over the rail to argue. “The Horde is running full steam ahead under bright suns, on warm beaches-” 

“Sounds like they’ve got the right idea!” Flynn said, seeming to give up on Shaw and turning to appeal to the rest of the gathered masses. “Master Shaw isn’t interested, clearly, but the rest of you should at least come down and fetch something warm to eat while you’re all crabbing over maps and missions. There’s good soup and pies and sausages and… well, just about anything you might want.”

Shaw crossed his arms. By now, the smells of the market were reaching them full force, blowing scents of cooked chestnuts, baking bread and roasting meat among others. 

Those on deck looked to Shaw, then to Wyrmbane. Wyrmbane looked to Shaw, who pointedly looked away.

Wyrmbane shrugged. “A lunch break wouldn’t do any harm.”

* * *

“You know, I always say it,” Flynn said, following behind Shaw as he maneuvered through the jostling press of people at the heart of the Frost Fair. At some point he’d picked up a sausage in a bun, although Shaw hadn’t noticed him exchange coins with any merchants for it. “You Stormwind folk could use a good helping of Boralus hospitality, then maybe you wouldn’t look so damn grim all the time.”

“‘Boralus Hospitality,’” Shaw scoffed, navigating around a huge rack of fish that was partially blocking the path, “has nearly gotten me a knife in the back more than once. There’s still plenty of people in this city ready to off a man wearing Alliance colors.” 

Flynn shrugged. “Less and less everyday. Especially since mainlanders seem to have so much coin in their pockets,” he said, gesturing to the crowd around them. From here, they could see a cluster of draenei lined up outside a fortune teller's tent, a gnome woman buying a sweetbun that was nearly half her height and a worgen trying on a knit cap in front of a mirror, trying to shove his ears inside the thing in a way that didn’t look ridiculous. “I think most folk have figured you lot are alright. I know I have.” 

“Funny how that happens when you’re being paid a small fortune by the crown for Azerite hauling,” Shaw said. 

Flynn made a small noise of mock outrage. “It’s a small price to ask for dangerous work, mate! That’s hard-earned gold. Gold I need to spend today, speaking of. Still have people I owe gifts to...”

Shaw shook his head at once, already seeing where this was going. “I’m just here for a cup of coffee, Fairwind. Not to help you play Greatfather Winter.” 

At some point Flynn had maneuvered himself from following in Shaw’s wake to leading the way. “Coffee’s that way,” He turned and pointed towards the North side of the market, touching Shaw gently on the arm to get him to look. “Gifts are also that way. Probably. Well, they’re in all directions, really.” 

Shaw swatted his hand away. “Coffee first.” 

Flynn gave him a smart salute with one hand, finishing the last bite of his sausage with his other. “Can do, Spymaster. Straight ahead. But, seems a waste to look a gift market in the mouth. There’s no one on your list you still need to do any shopping for?” 

Shaw grudgingly considered that, looking around at the stalls. After a moment, he conceded. “The only person I usually get a gift for is King Anduin.”

“Ha!” Flynn said, clearly taking that as a victory. “And have you yet?” 

“No.” 

“So, shopping it is!” 

* * *

“This might go faster,” Shaw said, tugging Flynn out of range of a salt merchant trying to catch their attention. “if you didn’t tell them who the gift was for.” 

Indeed, it turned out that Flynn announcing at every stall that they were “shopping for the king” provided wildly different outcomes every time. Some traders pulled out all the stops, some wouldn’t sell to them at all. Some hiked their prices two or three times what the thing was worth, as if Shaw couldn’t see the posted prices right in front of his face. One honey merchant from Stormsong had literally chased them down an aisle.

Flynn shrugged. “It makes them excited. If I spent my whole miserable life keeping a soap shop or shucking oysters in Hook Point, I think I’d want to know if my fine wares were going to Stormwind Keep. Something to tell the grandchildren.” 

“Except you’re making it take longer than it needs to,” Shaw said, huddling over his coffee, trying to extract as much warmth as possible from the last sip in the cup. Kul Tiran coffee wasn’t meant to be a culinary experience, in fact, it seemed like a substance actively trying to erode the drinker’s tongue. He grimaced as he finished the last drops and tossed it away into a waste basket. As soon as his hands were free, he plunged them into his cloak pockets to shield them from the wind. “It’s too cold for all this.” 

Flynn shook his head, mumbling something about mainlanders and their terrible foul weather gear under his breath. 

* * *

The more time they spent in the market, the more Flynn kept pushing at him, touching him, guiding him by the shoulders, find excuses to back into him, pulling him close… it was insanely distracting. Annoying. Far too bold. Far too familiar. More than once, sharp words sprung to Shaw’s lips to tell Flynn off, but he bit them back. In a crowded place like this, some amount of shoving, jostling and guiding was necessary just to stay together. It was probably normal, Shaw told himself. Normal people occasionally touched each other. 

It wasn’t like Fairwind was trying to pull a knife on him, he reasoned with himself. No, for some reason, Flynn was one of the only people he’d ever met that he trusted implicitly. He wasn’t sure why, but then again, he wasn’t going to complain too much if the world had handed him a friend. Usually, it was far too set on handing him enemies. 

Still, every touch felt like a brand, setting his body alight even through his heavy cloak. Shaw was certain that if he stripped off his shirt right now, he would be able to see every touch, graze and nudge Flynn had given him burned into his skin. Thank the Light for winter, he supposed, if there hadn’t been a cloak between them he might have just combusted on the spot. 

He felt lightheaded, he realized as Flynn pulled him into a little tent selling a strange combination of tinned anchovies and fur-lined scarves. Dazed. Drunk, almost. He didn’t like that thought at all - Mathias Shaw was not a man who allowed himself to enter any sort of altered state while in public. It was irresponsible. That’s how you got yourself stabbed.

If it got to be too much, he told himself, it would be easy to slip off, dodge around a stall, vanish in the crowd and be back to the Redemption in minutes. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Flynn asked him, now standing far too close, his eyes glittering even in the dim light of the tent. He insistently pressed something soft into Shaw’s hands. 

“Pardon?” Shaw blinked up at him. He hadn’t been listening in the slightest to whatever Fairwind had been yammering about, couldn’t even remember why Flynn had pushed him in this stall in particular. 

“The gloves,” Flynn said, nodding down. He had, in fact, pressed a solid looking pair of fur-lined leather gloves into Shaw’s hand. 

“Oh, yes,” Shaw said, clearing his throat. “Soft. Very warm.” He pulled one onto his hand and nodded. They fit well. 

“Rabbit fur, I think,” Flynn said. “Or Fox. Can’t tell. I’ll check.” To Shaw’s relief, for the first time all day Flynn moved more than an arm’s length away and went to catch the shopkeeper’s eye to chat at her instead. Shaw hated that his first instinct was to follow.

Instead, he shook his head, hoping in vain to clear it. He was wrong with him, acting all moony like this? With a huff, he pulled the gloves off and put them back on the display. As nice as they were, Anduin probably wouldn’t have any use for them. It didn’t get cold enough in Stormwind for gear like that. 

* * *

Word has spread in advance of their progress through the Fair that there was a customer shopping for King Anduin. The merchants had all perked up, peering at the buyers, clearly wondering who in the crowd was the mystery shopper. All blue or gold colored wares had been moved to the front of the stalls. Shaw rolled his eyes, feeling almost like he was back in Stormwind. 

He shot a nasty glare at every shopkeep who looked to be studying him too closely. He hated being looked at like this, hated to be in the middle of this many people. There was too much chaos. Anyone could be in this crowd; Ashvane loyalists, Horde spies, crazed cultists. Too many weapons at people’s belts and too many opportunities for a surprise attack. Not enough backup. Not enough information. Not enough eyes on the situation.

His normal eagle-eye view of his surroundings had narrowed to a Flynn-Fairwind shaped pinprick, he realized. Shaw pulled his cloak tighter and tucked his chin into his scarf. He needed air. 

Shaw made a beeline for a clearing up ahead, where the Winter Veil tree had been raised and also where an entire ox was being roasted over a huge firepit. This was one of the spaces meant for people to gather in, clearly. A gaggle of children darted in and out of the crowd on ice skates, dodging around people eating cups of chips and sucking on candied apples. Shaw shook his head at them, only able to think about how one bad spill could leave them slicing each other open with their sharp little shoes. He stopped by the tree, tucking himself out of the way of the crowds and trusting that Flynn would follow. 

Flynn peered at him, looking a bit worried. “Too much?” he asked, angling automatically to position himself between Shaw and the rest of the Fair. Shielding him, almost. 

“Mm,” Shaw said, eloquently. “Just taking stock of the situation.” He frowned at the fire pit, then at the ice beneath their feet. “Surely that’s unsafe?” 

Flynn shook his head, pointing one-by-one to a group of robed mages stationed at intervals around the clearing. “Frost mages and tidesages. They won’t let anything happen.” 

Shaw peered at them. “And they can be trusted?” 

“I swear!” Flynn threw his head back, laughing. He clapped Shaw on the back, “You know, you’re the most paranoid bastard on Azeroth.” 

“Well, yes,” Shaw said flatly, not seeing the humor. “I have to be. It’s ninety percent of my job description.” Flynn’s hand had come to rest on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. “You haven’t bought anything yet.” 

“Bought things? Not really. Well, one thing…” Flynn said, patting his coat pockets, which looked to be bulging more than they had when they’d started out. “But gotten plenty of things, yes.” 

Shaw raised an eyebrow at him, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “What happened to ‘spending your hard-earned gold?’” 

Flynn grinned at him. “I did! I got the one thing. At that took most of it. What about you? Haven’t found anything that would suit His Majesty’s royal fancy?” 

“That’s the problem with kings,” Shaw frowned, shaking his head. “They already have everything.” 

Flynn nodded. “We’ll keep looking, then.” 

* * *

By the time they reached the edges of the Fair it was mid-afternoon. So much for a lunch break, Shaw thought, even though every time he peered back at the Redemption it didn’t look like anyone else had come back either. The Fair had swallowed them all up and wasn’t going to let them free until their purses were wrung out empty. 

Things became stranger on the outskirts, tents were shabbier, the merchants sketchier. Late arrivals to set up and claim a spot, Shaw figured. Most of these sellers weren’t even Kul Tiran. He could see Torotollans, goblins, jinyu, vrykul... plus a few enterprising champions looking to make a quick few gold. Half of them didn’t even have tents, they just set up crates on the ice and laid out their strange wares.

Shaw had largely given up on finding a gift by this point. Instead, he was being propelled forward half by his own morbid curiosity of what the next stall would bring and half by Flynn’s still insistent excitement.

A ramshackle setup caught his eye as they came to the last row of stalls, manned by a woman who claimed to be from Vigil Hill, but who’s accent placed her somewhere deep in Drustvar. Shaw wanted to prod further down that line of inquiry, plus ask why the air around her booth was thick with dissonant energies, feeling very much like what he knew of Drust magic… but it was again, very hard to concentrate with Flynn basically pressing right up behind him, slotting their hips together in a way that could only be described as lewd. It wasn’t like they were in the swell of the crowd any more, there was plenty of space for them both to stand on their own two feet without Fairwind hanging all over him.

Shaw stepped to the side, out of range of Flynn’s hips, leaning over to peer closely at a collection of carved bone charms set out on display. Yes, definitely witch-like. He made a mental note - he’d have to have a word with the city guard about patrolling this Fair better. This was a public safety issue, there was no telling what dangers dark charms could pose to the general citizenry.

A moment later, Flynn was back behind him, pressing into his backside. Even through his cloak, Shaw could feel a hard bulge that hadn’t been there moments before.

Panic fluttered in Shaw’s chest. Witch charms forgotten in an instant, he turned and gave Flynn a shove. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what!” 

Shaw scowled at him, dropping his voice. “Stop humping me.” 

“I-- Humping!” Flynn spluttered for a moment, then recovered and pressed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I’m simply trying to keep you warm, mate. You’re not cut out for these temperatures, you’ve said it yourself plenty.” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Shaw said, more than a little testily. “I’ve survived Icecrown, I’ve survived Kun Lai, I’ve survived Alterac. I think I’ll survive a Kul Tiran winter. Why don’t you go see what’s at the next stall?” 

“Suit yourself,” Flynn said, clearly a bit put out. Thankfully, he didn’t argue further and did, in fact, wander away. 

Shaw turned back to the charms, not really seeing them. Sure, he knew in the back of his mind that he had to let Fairwind’s flirtation run its course. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t something he could actively engage in. Not something he could actively reciprocate. People like him… well, Shaw wasn’t meant to be the sort of person who had lovers. He’d dismissed his own agents for less. He should have done more to discourage it. He shouldn’t have let it get this far. 

Fairwind openly rutting against him in a public setting? Light. He hated that a thrill ran through him just at the thought. 

He’d been standing here too long, he realized. Staring at nothing, probably looking like quite the fool. He reached for one of the amulets instead. In the next stall over he could voices. Flynn was talking to what sounded like a pair of goblins. Possibly more than a pair.

“Fireworks!” Flynn whooped, just as Shaw’s hand closed around the amulet. “That’s more like it!” 

It was the last thing Shaw heard before a huge explosion, a bone shaking crack and a sudden plunge into the coldest, worst swim of his life.

The shock of it was enough to stop his brain, even stop his heart for a moment. He hung in the water, dazed, freezing, with only enough presence of mind to remember to open his eyes, to take stock of the situation. 

How…?

Beneath the water, even through the ice and the darkness, Shaw could see lights of every color spinning overhead. Fireworks…? Dark shapes moving, muffled yelling… people running, feet pounding on the ice… cracks spreading across the ceiling above him… 

Drowned in Boralus harbor, he thought to himself, dizzily. What a stupid way to go. 

For some reason, he couldn’t swim up. That puzzled him until he realized, no, it was his cloak. His waterlogged cloak was too heavy. He clutched at the clasp at his throat with frozen fingers, trying to pry it free. He opened his mouth to yell, only managing to get ice cold harbor water down his throat. Stupid…

A dark shape plunged into the water beside him, grabbing at him, pulling him. Where were they going? Shaw couldn’t see any more, it was too deep. Too dark. Too cold. 

* * *

Shaw sat bolt upright, a cry on his lips. They needed help! All those people falling into the Harbor - They needed a rescue plan, they needed men and ferries and barges and gryphons, they needed reinforcements and priests and fire mages for warmth and-

He blinked stupidly. Here he was, in his own warm bunk in his stateroom on the Redemption, in fresh, dry clothes, a fire roaring in the little stove in the corner. 

“Easy, easy now,” Fairwind hummed, moving to bedside and laying a hand on his shoulder, firmly easing Shaw back into the pillows. 

Shaw peered at him, incredulous, bewildered, panicked…he grabbed at Flynn’s arm, trying to push himself out of bed. “The whole Faire - all those people-” A full-body shiver started up, shaking him from his toes to his shoulders. “Tell me they didn’t all...?” 

Flynn shook his head at once. “All fine. Everything’s fine aside from your shivers and my absolutely slaughtered ego. Speaking of which, I should probably go now that I know you’re up and back to yourself. ”

He moved as if to get up, but Shaw didn’t release his arm. “Not yet,” he said softly, then cleared his throat, attempting to sound more professional. “I’d appreciate a full report of the scene, if you please.” 

Flynn nodded, then started counting off on his fingers as he stepped through the events. “Well, one goblin fireworks tent went up in a merry little blaze. Explosion. That was me. And I think that one woman you were talking to was a witch, she ran off in the commotion. Left behind her bad-luck tokens, though, so that’s on you. Maybe she cursed you, I dunno.” 

“The Fair,” Shaw reminded him, trying to get him back on track to what was important. “I saw the ice crack. When I was… Ah. Down below.” 

“Getting to that,” Flynn nodded. “The mages were able to patch up the ice easy-peasy. And, well, I tried to jump in after you, but hell. Turns out that water is actually pretty damn cold. That was all right though, because the tidesages fished us both back up. And then I brought you back here.” 

Shaw frowned at that. He hadn’t noticed it yet in the dim light of the room, but Flynn’s hair did look damp. He had Damp hair… and dry clothes. Shaw’s clothes. 

Flynn followed his gaze. “Got us both some fresh clothes, you hope you don’t mind me borrowing. We’re near the same size, luckily,” Shaw didn’t know if he quite believed that, seeing as how even in the dim light he could see his poor shirt struggling to contain Flynn’s broad chest and thick midsection. “Medics were here to check on you and help get you out of your wet stuff. If it’s any comfort. I didn’t want to overstep after… well. Didn’t want to invade any privacy or step on toes.” 

Shaw ran a hand through his own half-dried hair. It was sticking up on one side, clearly bed head enhanced with whatever sludge was on the bottom of the harbor. That would stink once it dried. Just what he needed. He shivered again, and didn’t say anything. 

“And I’m sorry,” Flynn continued, clearly suffering in the stretching silence. “Not just for blowing things up and giving you a dunk. Also for before. Getting too familiar. And because I couldn’t manage to get your cloak while we were down there, I had to leave it. I’ll get you another, though. A better one. A warmer one. A coat like mine, even. Might not be as fancy, but you’ll be warmer.” 

Shaw snorted, a little incredulous that of all the things Fairwind could be worried about he was stuck on that. “The cloak is the least of my concerns.” 

Flynn nodded, studying Shaw’s face closely and coming up hard against his perfectly crafted poker face. “Still. You can ever take mine if you want. And in the meantime,” he reached behind them, scooping his discarded coat off the floor and digging into the pockets. It was still dry. Shaw supposed Flynn had tossed it aside before jumping in after him. 

“It’s not much, but I did get you these,” Flynn said, pulling out the same leather, fur-lined gloves from the Faire stall earlier. “Fox fur. I would have waited for actual Winter Veil, but now seems a good time. Maybe I should have wrapped them, maybe that would be better--” 

“Fairwind?” 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up for a moment, will you?” 

Flynn, to his credit, shut his mouth with a snap. He even left the bedside, moving to huddle as best he could by the small stove. He kept peering at Shaw though, looking for all the world like a dog who knew he was in trouble for peeing in the house. 

It was warm, soft, good Kul Tiran leather. Shaw slipped the gloves on and nodded. They seemed durable, probably made for sailors running timber up to Northrend. He flexed his fingers, not surprised that even in the gloves they still felt like ice cubes. The chill that hung over him just wouldn’t shake. “I’m sure they’ll work better when I stop feeling like I’m still at the bottom of the harbor,” he said, pulling them off. “Thank you.”

“This might help,” Flynn said, pulling a flask from his pants next. “I’ve been nursing it. It’s, ah, fire whiskey. From Drustvar, but don’t worry, it’s not cursed as far as I can tell. This here’s the only reason I haven’t crawled under those blankets with you.” 

Even though Fairwind said it so casually, something in Shaw’s gut twisted in pleasure at his words. “I don’t drink,” he said instead, but without much resolve behind it. 

“You do,” Flynn said patiently, holding out the flask. They’d had this conversation enough times for Flynn to know how to cut to the chase. “You don’t drink in public. You don’t drink around people you don’t trust. You don’t drink to excess and you don’t drink when it’s near time for you to be on duty. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, mate, but you’re not in any state to go anywhere and you likely won’t have any visitors. There’s not enough left in there to get you sloshed. Wyrmbane saw the state you were in when we dragged you up here, he won’t be looking for you anytime soon.” 

Shaw waved a hand vaguely, then took the flask. Flynn was right, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He frowned as their fingers brushed as he took the flask; Flynn’s hand was even colder than his own. 

“You’re certain you’re alright?” Shaw asked, peering at Flynn’s face.

“I’m managing,” he shrugged. “Heat’s up as high as it can go.” 

Shaw eyed him, taking a huge swig of the whiskey until the flask was empty. Flynn had been right, there wasn’t very much left in there… but it did burn on the way down. 

Look at the two of them, he marvelled to himself. Two sorry sops looking like half-drowned rats, both near frozen to the bone. Even under all his shivers, he could still remember every touch Flynn had given him in the market, could still remember the swell of his trousers pressing into his own backside. Maybe the world was giving him more than just a friend. Who was he to deny it? 

“Blankets,” he grunted, pulling them aside and motioning Fairwind to join him. “And get that shirt off before you pop off every button on it.” 

Flynn stared at him, utterly bewildered. “You’re certain?” 

“You were so desperate to warm me earlier, what happened to all that?” 

* * *

It wasn’t hard to drift back to sleep, not with Flynn curled up behind him, pressed against his back. More than warmth, more than comfort, the most striking thing Shaw noticed was how incredibly safe it felt. Even with Flynn snoring gently against the back of his neck with one arm wrapped around chest, practically locking him in place, Shaw didn’t feel any urge to shake himself free.

It was freakishly strange. Shaw slept better than he had in years.

He awoke some hours later to that same press again. Even through both their trousers, he could feel Flynn’s cock wedged between them, insistently slotted as close as it could to the cleft of his ass. White hot pleasure stirred in his own gut in answer and Shaw could feel himself rising to the occasion in response as well. 

“I would say I’m sorry,” Flynn murmured once he noticed Shaw stirring, a certain smugness creeping into his voice. “But you were the one to invite me into your bed, shirtless to boot. It’s simple cause and effect, mate.” 

Shaw shifted, rolling over to squint at him, his hand worming beneath his waistband to take a solid hold of Flynn’s cock. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing, Captain?” 

His only answer was a strangled, wordless whine of surprise. After a few exploratory strokes, he withdrew his hand and set about making quick word of both their pants closures. Not difficult, considering both pairs were his. From the sheer girth of what he had been in his hand, Shaw was surprised Flynn hadn’t busted the seams himself.

He noted with mild amusement that the old stereotype of Kul Tiran men being uncut seemed to be true in Flynn’s case, but he bit back any comments about it. (Shaw certainly hadn’t been speculating on that during the occasional lonely night, oh no.)

“Truthfully,” Flynn wheezed, seeming to have regained his ability to speak after the shock of it all. “I would not have put money on you being a bedroom expert.” 

“Expert? I wouldn’t go that far,” Shaw paused, both of their cocks in hand. Flynn was right, it had been more than a decade, easily. Now wasn’t the time to start reminiscing on past romance, however, that was a path that lead direct to weeks of spiraling despair.

“You’re doing great,” Flynn said, bucking his hips with a twinge of urgency to return Shaw’s attention to the task at hand. “Top marks.” 

Shaw rolled his eyes. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he murmured, setting about working them both with a quick, efficient pace. He tucked his face into the crook of Flynn’s neck, giving the skin there an experimental suck… before latching on with the intent to bruise. Fairwind had plausible deniability if anyone noticed the mark, the same couldn’t be said for Shaw. 

Flynn hooked one of his big hands around Shaw’s thigh, gently pulling him across his lap to straddle him. Shaw obliged, pulling back from Flynn’s neck to look down at him with dark eyes, his pupils blown wide. 

“You know,” Flynn grinned up at him, unable to keep his hips still as he arched into Shaw’s palm, “in all the times I’ve imagined this happening, I never pictured you to look so…” he waved a hand in front of his face and above his head, miming Shaw’s wreck of a mustache and bed head to match. 

Shaw scowled down at him. He’d forgotten that he looked a mess. “I could get up and fix it if you prefer,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss Flynn’s mouth properly, aiming to shut him up. He tightened his grip and slowed his pace, dragging the pad of his thumb over the head of both their cocks, teasing. 

“Nngh- no, don’t stop,” Flynn practically whimpered into his mouth, his cheeks flushed and his eyes half-lidded. He looked so utterly wanton that it was simply too much… Shaw surged forward, shuddering and already coming into the narrow space between their chests. He slumped once he was spent, resting his head on Flynn’s shoulder. 

“Top marks,” Flynn said, still breathlessly hard and twitching against him, but trying to be patient while Shaw recovered. “Bit fast, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” 

“You don’t look like you’re that far behind,” Shaw hummed once he was ready, sitting up and eyeing his still-flushed cock. He looked to Flynn’s face instead as he slid down the bed, watching as realization broke of what was coming next. 

“Tides,” Flynn swore quietly, slipping a hand into Shaw’s hair and brushing it away from his face. “Alright, that’s even truer now.” 

Shaw raised a hand to swat Flynn’s fingers out of his hair, but stopped himself. There was nothing left for him to ruin, after all. “At least you can’t mess it up any more than it already is,” he said, settling between Flynn’s legs and sizing up the monstrous thing he was about to try to swallow down. He was probably going to be incredibly rusty… but Flynn didn’t look like he was in any place to be picky. 

He leaned forward, closing his lips over the head of his cock with a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. He couldn’t quite get it very far into his mouth, but lucky for him, Flynn hardly made it three pumps before he was coming as well, taking Shaw by surprise. He caught as much as he could in his mouth, which wasn’t much. 

“What was that about a ‘bit fast?’” Shaw asked dryly, wiping at his face with the discarded shirt Flynn had shed earlier. 

“Huh. Knock a man into the harbor and he’ll suck your cock for it, who knew,” Flynn snickered, cradling Shaw’s face with a hand. “You learn something new every day.” 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Shaw said, sliding up to lay his head on Flynn’s shoulder. “Feeling warmer now?” 

“If I say no, does that mean we get to go again?”

**Author's Note:**

> Frost Fairs were real things that happened in 7th-19th century London!  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/River_Thames_frost_fairs
> 
> For Liodain, who is the master of all things Fairshaw/Flaw and has been a lovely twitteroth partner for many months!
> 
> And uh, my apologies for letting this get so long!


End file.
